


Never twice the same

by biancarambles



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (at least in the parallel universe), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Behavior, Eskel Ships It, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, M/M, Parallel Universes, Pining Jaskier | Dandelion, Strangers to Lovers, Vesemir didn't teach Eskel geography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29564775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biancarambles/pseuds/biancarambles
Summary: On their way to a Halloween party, Geralt and Jaskier get lost in the woods and end up stumbling into somebody who knows an entirely different version of them.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	Never twice the same

**Author's Note:**

> This lil fic was written for the **Geraskier Reverse Bang 2020** and inspired by [the art](https://cob-head.tumblr.com/post/643579074259910656/hello-everyone-i-worked-together-with-the) by the lovely Bekyll (here on [Tumblr](https://cob-head.tumblr.com/) and [ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bekyll/pseuds/Bekyll)). It was a pleasure to collaborate and brainstorm ideas with you and I hope I did justice to the Over the Wall inspiration at least a little bit.

“Geralt, just admit it. We’re lost.”

“We are not lost.” Geralt pointed at their feet, at the path they had been following for the past half hour, narrow and dark against the fallen orange leaves and twigs.

“Who the fuck organizes a Halloween party in the woods?”

Geralt didn’t say anything, just sighed as he redirected the flashlight towards the map, angling it closer to the little red X mark. The sun hadn’t set yet, but the dark, heavy clouds lined with tangerine obscured the sky and cast long shadows over the woods.

“Besides,” Jaskier added, stumbling on the undergrowth somewhere behind him, “I can’t see anything with this stupid teapot.”

“You have only yourself to blame.” He fished out of the pocket the compass and then looked at the map again. With all of Jaskier’s blabbering, it was a surprise that they didn’t get lost for real.

“I just wanted to be quirky. Sue me.”

Geralt took a step back and consulted the compass again, aligning the top of the map with the North. They were definitely going in the right direction; finding the party location was just a matter of time. Now if Jaskier could only shut up and let him focus…

The rustle behind him stopped for a second and, when Geralt turned back, Jaskier was pouting at him in the dripping orange and violet light of dusk. “I knew you didn’t want to be paired with me.” Jaskier sighed dramatically with a hand on his chest. “You said that I was going to be useless.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Well, I wasn’t wrong.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened in what could only be described as complete disdain. “You are seriously cranky. You need a drink. Or a nap.”

Geralt chose not to answer on behalf that he really needed a drink and/or a nap to be able to endure Jaskier’s one-sided rambling for longer.

“I can’t believe there are people who organize a bonfire Halloween party in a secret location that can only be reached by navigating these perilous woods with the help of these ancient contraptions.” Jaskier gestured at the compass with disdain yet again, then took a few unstable steps towards him. “We’re gonna get lost.”

“We aren’t.”

“Easy for you to say.” Jaskier scoffed, leaning against a dried-up tree with a little sigh. “You know all about this… lumberjack stuff.”

Geralt couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I wore a flannel one time.” He pointed the flashlight towards Jaskier, a blushing deer in the headlights.

“Well, I don’t know anything about you because we are just acquaintances and you don’t speak,” Jaskier stammered. “In my defense, you have the shoulders to match, so you can’t really blame me for jumping to conclusions.”

After letting Jaskier stew in his awkwardness just a second longer, Geralt pointed the flashlight back at the map. “We’re close.”

“Are you sure?”

Geralt turned around and started walking in the direction indicated by the compass. Some questions were so stupid they didn’t warrant an answer.

He inhaled deeply: the night air had that unique fresh scent that forecasted sure sub-zero temperatures in the morning. It was surely going to snow in the night.

A whiny “Come on, Geralt, wait for me!” followed suit.

The rustling behind him resumed, faster this time. Geralt turned around: Jaskier was now struggling to keep the pace without slipping and sliding on the wet, overgrown roots. In a valiant effort to remain standing, his tongue was poking out his lips as he tramped on the fallen leaves using tree trunks as support. It could’ve almost been endearing.

When Jaskier finally caught up to him, Geralt gave him a once-over. 

The heavy guitar case had caught a few dangly, leafless branches (birch and pine), that were now sticking out Jaskier’s back like bizarre wings. He looked ridiculous. “Did you really have to bring your guitar?” Geralt couldn’t help but ask. 

Jaskier had the nerve to also look shocked as he caressed the guitar case behind his back with utmost care. “She’s a bit sexy, isn’t she?” He said, gaze on his back. Without waiting for an answer, undeterred by Geralt’s absolute lack of interest, Jaskier continued rambling at a higher pitch, jumping from one topic to another without making any sense at all. “Can you believe we aren’t even allowed phones? Isn’t it sketchy?”

“Hm.”

“Like, I know it’s a no social media party and all but how am I supposed to get there without Google Maps?” Jaskier eyed the compass suspiciously and tapped the glass, causing the needle to move.

“Don’t do that again.” Geralt snatched the compass away from him, groaning at Jaskier’s disappointed face. He started walking, acutely aware of his patience growing thinner by the minute as Jaskier kept asking “Are we there yet?” every time he consulted map and compass and gave no answer. 

Preserving his inner Zen had the priority over answering the inane questions of Jaskier, his overly chatty acquaintance with a surprising lack of any sense of self-preservation.

***

As Geralt refocused his attention away from the map and to their steps, he realized that the relatively beaten path they had been following had given way to a soft carpet of wet, fiery leaves. In the haunting silence of the night, the babbling of water was only interrupted by the sporadic eerie screech of a nearby barn owl. When he looked up from their feet, they were standing on the bank of a stream.

Geralt crouched down to have a better look. The stream was shallow and rimmed with a thin layer of ice around the bank; a few rocks were breaking the surface of the water. Crossing it wasn’t going to be too hard, at least for him. He couldn’t speak for Jaskier and his giant guitar case.

Jaskier peaked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the map. “Are you sure there’s a river on the map?”

Geralt stood up, then folded the map neatly and put it back in his pocket. “The map is stylized.”

Jaskier raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips, grumbling something that sounded a lot like: “So there’s no river.”

Geralt cast him a dirty look but, for some reason, it appeared to have the opposite effect than intended because Jaskier started laughing. He frowned even more – there was nothing funny in trying to navigate the woods at night with only a crummy flashlight, a slightly inaccurate map and an annoying travelling companion. 

“What?”

“It’s your hat,” Jaskier managed to spit out in between all the wheezing.

With the distinct impression that his ears were now matching the hat, Geralt frowned again and readjusted the aforementioned hat on his head. That stupid, red, pointy, stupid hat was going to be the end of him.

Jaskier was now bent in two, trying to catch his breath. “It’s just so _red_ and _pointy._ ”

“Shut up.”

“Alright,” Jaskier conceded between laughs. He had to clear his throat from excessive laughing and it stung Geralt’s pride the most. “It’s too early for Christmas.”

“I’m not a Christmas elf,” Geralt mumbled.

“What are you supposed to be then?”

“I’m a gnome.” God, his ears were burning.

“A garden gnome?”

“Just a gnome,” he forced himself to state it as proudly as he could muster. He wasn’t going to let himself be bullied by Jaskier, the least threatening person he’d ever had the disgrace to meet.

“I expected something more… intimidating?” Jaskier thought to himself for a second, scratching his head, presumably looking for the perfect way to aggravate Geralt further with inappropriate costume suggestions. “A sexy vampire perhaps? A rugged pirate? Oh, oh! I got it! Something that suggests ‘I am a broody hero who saves the day but can’t allow himself to be vulnerable’… like sexy Batman or something nerdy like that!”

“It was a last-minute choice,” Geralt said bluntly. Jaskier certainly didn’t need to know his love for Gravity Falls. “I wasn’t going to wear a costume.”

“You just had a Christmas elf hat and a cape laying around at home?” Jaskier chuckled and not even the lack of sunlight was dimming his smile. “I find it hard to believe.”

“Believe what you want,” Geralt muttered, eyes on the icy stones breaking the surface of the stream. In a futile effort to escape the awkward conversation, he took his first, hesitant steps on the closest rock, careful not to fall. The water had made them just slippery enough that staying upright required actual concentration.

Jaskier’s voice rose screeching in contrast with the gentler watery babbling of the stream. “How am I supposed to cross the river?”

Geralt pointed at the rocks behind him without looking away from the birch tree he was using as a visual anchor.

“But Geralt… They look so slippery. I’m gonna fall in the river, get soaked and die of hypothermia.”

Turning around for a second to look at Jaskier was enough for Geralt to almost lose his balance. When he found it again, he extended one hand to Jaskier and motioned him to move closer.

Tongue poking out of his lips again for the effort, Jaskier spread out his arms and carefully followed Geralt’s steps. When Jaskier reached the stone just before Geralt, he seemed to slip on the icy surface and clasped Geralt’s forearm just in time to catch himself.

Geralt squeezed back, trying to stabilize Jaskier. Although watching him dive could’ve been amusing, a wet Jaskier would’ve been even more obnoxious and Geralt wasn’t sure he could endure it.

So they crossed the river in that weird tandem, Jaskier still holding on Geralt’s arm for dear life, and Geralt treading carefully the icy, slippery stones.

As they got on the other riverbank, Geralt cleared his voice and smoothed down his cape. “By the way, this never happened,” Geralt stated, channeling his sternest self in response to Jaskier’s childlike, radiant expression.

Regardless of Jaskier’s cheeky smirk, it seemed to work as they walked in blessed, magical silence for ten more minutes, the sun setting behind them and the sky’s violent orange turning first violet, then an indigo so dark it was almost black.

A chill breeze had set in, the skeletal branches gently swaying with it, at times so close that Geralt had to stop himself from screaming when they brushed his shoulders. And as for Jaskier, he scampered along looking around nervously as if they could be ambushed by frat boys from behind every bush.

And then it hit him, the faint but familiar smell of burning wood. Geralt turned to Jaskier. “Can you smell it?”

Jaskier smoothed his shirt, looking down at his feet. “Oh Geralt, how thoughtful of you to notice my new cologne.” He twirled a bit on himself, almost tripping on overgrown roots, then stared back at Geralt with a smug look. “The salesclerk did an amazing job. I smell divine and it was on sale too.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. Sometimes he wondered if the excessive eye-rolling was his body having an allergic reaction to Jaskier’s presence. “It’s a campfire.”

“Oh,” Jaskier cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t smell anything.” He paused. “Does it mean that we are there?”

“Close.”

They really were close. So close that Geralt could almost taste the afterburn of the shots in his throat and the bonfire soot. Soon he’d be rid of Jaskier’s overly chatty self.

“Thank god.” Just as he thought Jaskier was done, he kept on blabbering while he attempted to catch up. “These woods are getting kinda spooky though,” he said as he shuddered beside him, crossing his arms against his chest in a shiver. “And they are probably full of people in creepy costumes about to pounce on us.”

Geralt groaned. There was no peace to be enjoyed with him.

“It also occurred to me that tonight is Halloween exactly. It’s also the second full moon in October, a very rare occurrence indeed. The veil is thin,” he declared and wiggled his eyebrows in a way that Geralt assumed was supposed to be suggestive. “Are you superstitious, Geralt?”

“No.”

“Oh, well, I am.”

“Great.” Maybe if he answered curtly enough, the conversation was going to die on his own, with no further bloodshed.

“Come on, Geralt,” Jaskier whined, removing a twig that got stuck in his lederhosen with an annoyed sound. “I am just trying to make some pleasant conversation on this fine, spooky Halloween night.”

“Hmm.” Unfortunately for Geralt, Jaskier seemed to be perfectly able to carry a conversation by himself.

“Plus, a walk in the woods under the moonlight with a handsome man calls for conversation.”

Geralt barely glanced at the cloudy sky. “There is no moon,” he said. It came out like a reflex, without him even thinking about it, or having the time to stop himself from saying it. Why did every conversation with Jaskier always end in the same direction? Couldn’t Jaskier just be _normal_ for once?

It was Jaskier’s turn to roll his eyes. “It was a figure of speech,” he grumbled, defeated as he dropped the twig on the underbrush floor. It sank without a sound in the wet foliage.

“It’s cloudy.”

“You are terrible.” Jaskier sniffled, sinking his hands in the pockets of his lederhosen. “You make being friends with you very hard.”

Geralt just shrugged. “And yet here you are.”

Jaskier pouted. “You don’t need to say it with such displeasure.”

“And yet.” Despite his best intentions, Geralt couldn’t help but smile this time. Somehow being stuck in the creepy woods with Jaskier wearing a teapot as a hat was becoming mildly entertaining and Geralt was starting to fear for his own sanity. Never mind the perspective of a costume party that was probably going to be terrible in its own regard.

After another minute or so Jaskier cleared his throat. “So, because I am not a hunting dog nor a lumberjack, I can’t smell the campfire… Are we there yet?”

Geralt didn’t answer, just kept walking. It had taken longer than he expected but they should’ve been there in less than five minutes. Maybe his eyes were tricking him, but he could swear he could see the faintest column of smoke rising from a thicket of trees just northeast of them. 

At the second “Are we there yet?”, Geralt turned to look at Jaskier. “Your Mad Hatter costume is wrong.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes in disapproval, reaching for the teapot spout to point it out. “I’m an elephant.”

“Are you?” Geralt squinted and tilted his head to try to understand how the teapot on Jaskier’s head could ever be part of an elephant costume. In his defense, Geralt did honestly try for at least two full seconds before giving up. “Anyway, it’s … wrong.”

Jaskier stopped walking, cocked his head and shot him a conspiratorial look, spiced up with an eyebrow wiggle. “What would _you_ have liked to see me in?”

“A donkey.”

Jaskier scoffed, putting his hands on his hips, dangerously close to throwing a tantrum. For some bizarre reason, the look suited him almost too well. “Excuse me what?”

“Well, talking donkey since you can’t seem to shut up.” Geralt paused, debating on whether or not elaborating on it was going to make it even worse. “Like in Shrek.”

“What I’m hearing is that I would be a…” Jaskier trailed off, counting each following word on his fingers, “An awesome sidekick first, a travelling companion second and so sexy I could seduce dragons.”

“With a little luck I won’t ever find out.”

“About the dragon thing?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and started walking again towards the trees. He was more than ready to retract his statement about the night being entertaining. Jaskier was just too much to handle. Whoever had paired them out sure had to have a personal vendetta against Geralt and he had one or two ideas.

“Geralt, how rude,” Jaskier cried out, catching up to him. “Hasn’t anybody told you that you really need to work on your manners. You can’t just leave me in the woods with no flashlight. What if I stumble, fall and break my ankle?” He gasped dramatically, putting a hand on his chest. “I don’t have a phone. Best care scenario they’ll find my corpse ravaged by wild animals in a month.”

Geralt sighed, shook his head and angled the flashlight towards the map and then the thicket of trees. “There are no trees on the map, but the spot is northeast, so according to the azimuth, it’s only 78 degrees that way.”

“I will nod and pretend to understand,” Jaskier said, nodding for good measure.

They had lost any beaten path already a while back, so Geralt tried to open up the branches to find the easiest way to pass through the thicket. Yes, some of them may have sprung back in Jaskier’s face but that was none of his problem.

In between Jaskier’s ‘ouches’ and haphazardly broken branches, they made their way through the thicket, a little, trembling firelight to guide them through as a beacon of hope and free liquor.

As they stepped outside the thicket, a small, perfectly round clearing opened before them. In the middle of it, a crackling bonfire burned away enthusiastically. Nobody to be seen, not a sound except the enthusiastic crackle of the fire.

“Well, this is a campfire,” Jaskier offered his unnecessary opinion as he stood up, brushing away pine needles and leaves from his jacket, then checking the integrity of his guitar.

Geralt took a few steps towards the fire.

Inside the clearing, it was perfectly still, there was no wind. It was calm, oh so calm, oh so unnervingly calm and inviting. There was nowhere he would’ve rather been than sitting in front of the campfire with the distant sound of the wind blowing through the trees singing to him like a lullaby. Blessed silence, for once in his life. 

Behind him a few steps, then Jaskier tapped his shoulder nervously. “Are you sure that we are in the right place? Nobody’s here.”

When he turned, Jaskier’s eyes were darting around the clearing, uneasy, over the slightly damp meadow, over the dandelions and the bluebells, and over the crepitating bonfire. “Isn’t this a bit unusual for a Halloween party? Shouldn’t there be more people or at least something, some preparation... A stereo, a few kegs, anything at all?”

Geralt just shrugged. They were probably just early and everybody else had gotten lost with no Google Maps to guide them.

Jaskier giggled nervously, adjusting the strap of his guitar. “Did you lure me here to kill me and eat me?”

Geralt scoffed. “I’d have done so earlier, so I wouldn’t have to endure the conversation.”

“A-ha, so fucking funny, Geralt. I’d appreciate your efforts at trying to be funny much more on a date, over a coffee and a slice of cake, not in the creepy fucking woods.” Jaskier sighed, rubbing his temples.

There was something to say about the fact that being the one to annoy _him_ was, indeed, somewhat amusing to Geralt. It was a much-deserved treat, although the prospect of being on a date with Jaskier made his throat very dry for some reason.

“What should we do?” Jaskier asked, taking a step back.

Geralt just shrugged again as he walked to the bonfire and extended his arms towards the fire, wriggling his fingers. This was nice. A little bit of warmth crept all the way to his forearms, chest and then heart. He was walking closer when Jaskier’s voice interrupted him, high pitched and ever so panicky.

“Are you honestly going to sit near the haunted bonfire?”

Geralt turned around, cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Live a little, Jaskier.”

“Fine,” Jaskier hissed, marching in front of him and plopping to the ground with a dull plop. Without missing a beat, he readjusted the teapot on his head, all while pouting childishly at Geralt. “If I’m going to die in these stupid woods, at least I’ll die wielding a guitar.”

***

Waiting for the rest of the partygoers sitting in front of the bonfire wasn’t half bad. Yes, the grass underneath Geralt’s ass was damp and it was getting chilly, especially without anything to drink, but Jaskier’s music wasn’t terrible – a little unoriginal, maybe too close to pop for Geralt’s liking but the bridges were catchy. Despite himself, Geralt found himself tapping his feet along to the rhythm, at least until he heard a noise coming from outside the clearing.

“Stop playing,” Geralt said.

“Why? You don’t like it?” Jaskier cocked his head to look at him, mildly concerned. “I can switch songs if you want.”

Geralt glanced in the direction of the noise and waited a few seconds. There it was again: the unmistakable noise of twigs snapping, the soft footsteps on the wet underbrush and decaying leaves.

“What?” Jaskier tapped his shoulder and Geralt barely bothered to pay him any mind. The rustling nearby had his near-total attention.

“What’s happening?” Jaskier asked again and his voice sounded distant, so distant, almost as if it was coming from an entirely different plane of existence.

Geralt turned around and pressed a finger gently against Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier’s eyes looked so wide now, wide of bonfire light and, maybe, a hint of fear. When Geralt shushed him another time, Jaskier raised an eyebrow in protest and remained silent, probably for the first time in his life.

The steps were getting closer and, as a gloved hand moved away the last few branches, a burly man in leather armor and a frankly obnoxiously colored codpiece emerged from the thicket of trees.

“Geralt?” The man took a few steps towards the bonfire, a wide grin on his face which turned to confusion, then embarrassment. “Oh… I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

Geralt looked at the stranger, then at Jaskier and found him staring back perplexed.

“Do you know him?” Jaskier asked him.

Geralt shook his head. There was something familiar about him but, after all, it was Halloween, and the disguise wasn’t helping. With such a remarkable appearance, how could he have forgotten that guy? “I guess?” He attempted.

“I’ve been looking for you for hours!” The man closed the distance between them and gave him a smack on Geralt’s shoulders, still grinning. “But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You do tend to disappear when the Viscount is around, heh!”

Geralt froze, while Jaskier propped himself up to get a better look. With the corner of his eyes, he could see a web of scars across his right cheek. The makeup looked unbelievably real.

“What was that about a Viscount?” Jaskier interjected, his left hand gripping the handle guitar tight.

“Well, yeah, I know you prefer to go by name but, forgive me, I still need to get used to it.”

Jaskier raised both eyebrows, elbowing Geralt and casting him a questioning look.

Geralt just shrugged his shoulders, trying to maintain his cool. Maybe Jaskier was right all along and they were going to be eaten that night by the weird stranger, without anybody ever finding their remains. At least he could’ve been an episode of those true crime podcasts he loved so much.

“Let me tell you,” Jaskier pointed at the dude’s armor and at the sword hilts strapped to his back, “That costume. Impressive. And the SFX makeup? Chef’s kiss.” And the idiot actually did the move. “Who are you cosplaying? This is next level.”

The man seemed puzzled. “I think I’m not refined enough for your sense of humor,” he said. He kicked in the embers a couple of twigs that were laying around and a handful of sparkles shimmered above the flames, near his hands. He then turned to Geralt and stared down at him. “By the way, Geralt, what the fuck are you wearing right now? Is that a sex thing? I knew that spending time with the Viscount was going to make you a posh-looking arsehole, but if that’s what they are trying to pass for the latest Toussaint fashion… Well, let’s just say I’m happy to winter in Kaer Morhen.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” And, really, Geralt had no fucking clue. All those words made sense separately but then, all mashed together, they gave him a headache and the slightest hint of nausea.

“A cape? A pointy red hat? That’s not the man I remember.”

In a fit Geralt shoved the hat in his pocket, defeated. Great, now everybody was dragging his gnome costume; he’d have to reevaluate next Halloween. “Well, I don’t remember you at all,” he answered piqued as he crossed his arms on his chest.

The man didn’t seem to take any offence nor to take him seriously. “Don’t be such a grumpy cat, Geralt. That’s not the way to talk to your brother.”

“You have a brother?” Jaskier hijacked the conversation again, chin resting on his hand, the other arm around the guitar. He looked too interested in the lunatic’s blabbering.

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, not by blood of course.” The man gave him another smack in the middle of his back, at which Geralt pulled back, bracing himself for the impact. At Geralt’s reaction, he cocked his head, chuckling. “What has gotten into you? Has the Viscount worn you out? I knew the stupid hat was a sex thing.”

“The Viscount has _what_ now?” Jaskier’s attention was perched up and he had a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Is this what you’ve been telling around, my dearest Geralt?”

Geralt snorted, elbowing Jaskier in the ribcage. The idiot was having way too much fun indulging the cannibal weirdo’s fantasies. It was no good for either of them. “Enough Jaskier.”

“Oh, stop it with the pet names already, Wolf.” He winked to Geralt, then turned to Jaskier and bowed his head apologetically as he sat down in between them. “He hasn’t said anything, as per usual, but he doesn’t need to. It’s been clear as day since the Lioness of Cintra’s banquet. The ballads say it all, down to the raunchy details.”

Jaskier squealed delightedly. “Songs about our love, Geralt! Have you heard?”

“Shut up.” Geralt hid his face in his hands. Not this again. Why was Jaskier always wanting to date him?

The man cocked his head. “Aye, you’re prickly today. Troubles in paradise?”

“Most definitely not…” and as he tried to remember the name of the stranger that seemed to know too much about him, his mind drew a blank. He cleared his throat. 

Silence loomed for a few seconds, until the man cocked the head to look at Jaskier, then at Geralt curiously. “Eskel.” He narrowed his eyes and, as he did, Geralt noticed that he had contacts – vertical pupils black as coal and a peculiar yellowish iris were staring back at him, sifting through his very soul. It was downright _unsettling_.

Whatever answer Eskel was looking for, he apparently found, as he continued right after. “Your eyes, they are different… You don’t know me,” he stated finally in a flat tone.

“Nope.”

Jaskier inserted himself once again in their conversation, poking out his head from the other side of Eskel. “I thought you did?”

“He just looked familiar. That’s all,” Geralt said exasperated.

“Interesting...” Eskel scratched his head pensive as he grabbed another handful of twigs from the grass and fed it to the fire. The humidity bubbles crackled and fumed as he stared into the fire. “Did you run into somebody strange in the woods?”

“Besides you?”

“You are very funny, Geralt,” Eskel scoffed. “This is not good,” he commented, shaking his head to himself. “Not good at all.”

“No shit.” Indeed, befriending a weirdo in the creepy nights in the woods was not good but they were more in danger than him. After all, he started having the sneaky suspicion that those swords were more than costume props from a Halloween store. “Who are you anyway? How do you know me?”

“Well, I am Eskel and I’ve known you for almost our entire lives. We’ve fought and gotten drunk too many times to remember, to the dismay of darling Vesemir.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his hand trembling for a second before he added: “You are my family.”

“Maybe you should ask who _you_ are, Geralt,” Jaskier suggested, unhelpfully.

Eskel laughed. “Viscount’s got a point, but I am unqualified to tell the tales of the glorious Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf. Truth be told, Lambert and I, we are all slaying monsters but only Geralt seems to not suffer from our profession’s bad reputation.”

Trying to block out of his vision Jaskier mouthing “what the fuck”, Geralt shrugged again, wrapping himself tighter in the cape. “That’s impossible. That’s not me.”

“I know, right?” Jaskier laughed, a clear, bright laugh so different from Eskel’s warm one. “Killing monsters? Being famous? Having a good reputation? Fake you must have an amazing PR team in this parallel universe.”

“Every bard wants to get a piece of the action but nobody gets the exclusive on pretty boy there,” Eskel said, pointing at Geralt with a gloved finger.

“What about me?,” Jaskier asked. 

“You are the Viscount of Lettenhove, a very nice estate in Kerack, not too far from here, actually.”

“Ohhhh, sounds fancy, I like it.” Jaskier nodded approvingly, plucking at the chords, gaze lost in the horizon, over the flames. “What do I do?”

“Throw parties? Hunt? Govern the estate?” Eskel scratched the back of this neck and shrugged. “I’m not sure what nobles do in their free time.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. Of course, fake Jaskier would have also been a pretentious, annoying, pompous character.

“Do I… like, do art?”

Eskel shook his head, biting his lip as he tried to remember whatever happened in his little lunatic parallel universe. “I don’t know much about you,” he said, “Well, besides the fact that you and Geralt are fucking, of course.” He laughed again and pushed his hair back. “I’ve been begging for details for many winters but he’s silent as a tomb.”

“It’s truly a shame that Geralt is so jealous and possessive about me.” Jaskier nodded, apparently blind to the “I’m seriously gonna kill you” look that Geralt was casting towards him.

So they said nothing for a few minutes with only the crackling embers carrying the conversation forward, a conversation full of questions about Eskel’s sanity and their other selves he seemed so close to. A few fireflies wandered around the bonfire, close enough to taunt the creeping night with their ephemeral, flickering glow but not enough to touch the bizarre group gathered around the fire. 

Eskel cleared his throat and Jaskier almost jumped out of his skin. “Are you sure you didn’t run into anything weird?” Eskel asked, more gently this time. “Witchers are bound to run into… peculiar things every now and then.”

“For the millionth time, no,” Jaskier exploded, his voice a higher pitch that made both Geralt and Eskel wince. “Listen, the last thing I know is that we were going to a Halloween party and there wasn’t a river on the map and then we were here and then _you_ were here and you speak to him like you know him and I don’t even know what the fuck is going on anymore.”

“Julian, it’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” Eskel patted his arm but Jaskier was still clutching the guitar with a death grip, frozen. “I’m not a magic expert but I know people that can help.”

“Don’t call me Julian or Viscount or… whatever. I am Jaskier and I am fucking sick of this weird ass 2020. I’m not having fun anymore. I just want to go home.”

Eskel raised an eyebrow. “2020?”

The pause that followed was enough to make Geralt’s heart sink faster than a stone thrown in a still mountain lake, with barely any ripples on the surface.

Jaskier was dangerously close to tearing his hair out and Geralt wasn’t far from following. Dreading the answer, Geralt still managed to get the words out. “Where are we?”

“Brokilon Forest. Not many dare to venture here.” He paused. “I think a better question, however, would be ‘ _when_ are we’?” Eskel mumbled under his breath in response, transfixed on the flames, avoiding their gaze.

“Oh god.” Jaskier sighed deflated as he flopped down on his guitar. “I enter fucking Narnia and I’m wearing a fucking teapot on my head? Can you believe, Geralt? I can’t even but now I’m like ‘it’s 2020, this may as well happen,’ you know?”

“Jaskier, it’s fine.” Geralt heard his voice say those words but it didn’t feel like his voice, almost as if something had taken over his body and his entire personality. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“It’s we now?” Eskel smiled, turning his head towards him. There was genuine concern and pride in his unsettling, catlike eyes. “Your instincts are kicking in. Whether it’s the Witcher or the protective lover in you... that I cannot tell.”

Jaskier cleared his throat, plucking again at the cords entranced. “So… where and when are we exactly?”

“1255, the Continent, more specifically in the forest of Brokilon, south of the Northern Kingdom of Temeria.”

“Which continent? America? Europe? Goddamn Australia?”

Eskel hesitated for a second, biting his bottom lip pensive. “What? There’s only one Continent. Not that Vesemir really tried to teach us geography but still…”

“Great, I’m loving all of this.” Jaskier cracked his knuckles with a plastered, fake smile on his lips. Maybe he was born to be a phony noble after all. “Why are you here? In Babylon, or whatever this hellish place is called?”

“Brokilon.” He snapped a twig and threw it into the fire. “Geralt and I were hired for a contract, to dispatch a yghern.”

“A what?”

“Giant centipede. Nasty stuff.”

Now the scars and the swords were telling a different story than an over-enthusiastic cosplayer. Geralt shuddered: the idea that this life belonged to him, or at least another version of him he could’ve been was at once overwhelming and intoxicating, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

“And that’s your job?”

Eskel nodded. “Yes, mine and Geralt’s, or at least my Geralt’s.” He paused and did a quick once-over of Geralt with a critical eye. “What do you do?”

Geralt swallowed, uncomfortable, as he tried as much as possible to stay still. He felt naked under Eskel’s examination. It was stupid and it made no sense. How could he feel lacking towards somebody he’d never seen before? His mind was playing tricks on him. “I work in construction.”

“And I’m an unemployed theatre major.” Jaskier giggled and clapped his hands in what could've only been described as a manic glee. “What a happy trio to wander around in the creepy woods at night with a giant centipede at large. I feel very safe and very happy to be here right now.”

“Oh shush, Viscount. I am here, Geralt is here.” With one fluid motion, he got up and unsheathed one of the two sword, causing Jaskier to recoil a good five feet back. “You are in the most capable hands of the Continent, you’ll be fine. We’ll go to Yennefer and she’ll know how to fix this.”

“Who’s Yennefer?” Jaskier pulled a face, nose wrinkled and lips pursed in disapproval, as he crossed his arms on his chest in front of the guitar. “She sounds like a bitch.”

Eskel laughed, a low, grumbly sound that filled the clearing. It could’ve been almost reassuring if he wasn’t wielding a sword way too close to them. “Well, she can be but she’s also a powerful sorceress.”

“And you think she’s going to help?”

“It’ll take some convincing but it’s our only option.” Eskel shrugged. “I really need my Geralt back. It’s November and I can’t bear to be alone with Lambert for another winter. With no new stories to tell, drinking games have become dull.”

“If I may interject, I don’t think we have _forgotten_ anything. We are just not them.”

Eskel’s eyes flickered between them, vigilant, but the frown line above them betrayed something deeper.

In spite of himself, Geralt felt himself lacking in front of the weird stranger with catlike eyes. Everything from his stupid Halloween costume, the ordinary construction job to the heavy flashlight resting against his leg screamed that they were out of place in this world of powerful sorceresses, monster hunters and giant centipedes.

“It’s more the reason to go to Aretuza. They think themselves above anybody else but they are also the only ones that can help,” he settled on, not without a little grin. “It’s only a few days’ travel away. I’d suggest we get going.”

“Oh hell no.” Jaskier jumped up too, at a respectful distance from Eskel’s sword, one hand holding the guitar upright and the other on his hip. “I am not going out of sight of this bonfire. You may have your freaky things and the swords and the eyes,” he gestured frantically, “but I am staying put here. I’m not gonna be the midnight snack of any giant centipede, no thank you.”

“We could wait ‘til morning, if that would make you feel better.”

“Much better.” Jaskier nodded, sniffling just a little as he turned to Geralt. “You should be more like Eskel. At least he is nice to me, Geralt. I can’t wait to meet the fake Geralt of this universe. I have a feeling we’d get along swimmingly.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, as he leaned back propping himself with his arms. Despite the closeness to the bonfire, the grass was wet of mildew and slippery between his fingers. Jaskier could shove his pouting where the sun didn’t shine; giant centipedes and sorceresses had the priority over being butthurt here.

Eskel stifled more laughter as he walked around the clearing stopping every few steps to extend his arm, his hand emitting a faint magical glow that built up with each gesture to create a shimmering orange dome above them. “The campfire should be safer now,” he said finally.

“What did you do?” Jaskier narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Oh, that? Just a little protective magic for tonight. Wouldn’t want to be caught off guard by the yghern, especially with Geralt so… vulnerable right now.” When Eskel looked at him, the frown line was softer than he remembered.

For some strange reason, Geralt’s hands were itching as if a thousand ants were crawling under his skin. He balled them up in a fist and relaxed them once, twice, three times but the odd sensation remained. He extended them towards the fire to warm them up – it was probably early onset hypothermia, nothing to worry about.

“I’ll sleep here,” and Eskel pointed towards the edge of the clearing as he bent down, picked up a satchel and unrolled a bed roll on the floor. “You and the Viscount can be closer to the fire and have some privacy.”

“We won’t need that,” Geralt stated before Jaskier could say anything ridiculous.

“This Geralt doesn’t want me.” Jaskier pouted. 

“Shut up.”

Eskel raised an eyebrow. “You two are not involved?”

“Not yet.” Jaskier winked and Geralt had to physically refrain himself from cuffing him behind the head.

“Not ever,” Geralt specified. Why Jaskier was so intent on dating him was beyond him. He could see the appeal of alternative reality Geralt, a badass monster hunter, but normal him? Jaskier would’ve sure preferred somebody… flashier, able to appreciate, not merely tolerate him.

“Such a shame.” Eskel turned around, looked at them, smiled and sighed as he smoothed down the bedroll. “You make a lovely couple.”

Jaskier, the incurable flirt, flashed another dazzling smile to the man before elbowing Geralt. “Do you hear this, Geralt? Present ‘you make’, not even conditional ‘you’d make’ as in this weird universe.”

Geralt huffed. Whatever fake him and fake Jaskier had going on in the parallel universe was none of his business. Fake Geralt was very clearly a simp for the Viscount and that sounded like his personal version of purgatory. “Not interested,” he repeated to nobody in particular.

“See what I have to deal with?” Jaskier sighed dramatically and plopped down to the floor next to him. He was very lucky that Geralt considered himself above physical violence.

Eskel chuckled at the scene. At least he seemed to have fun at Jaskier’s antics. “I’ll take watch tonight, so you can rest.”

“I have undying faith in you, Eskel,” Jaskier chirped.

That makes one of us, Geralt though as he wrapped the cloak tighter to himself, stiff as a board sitting on the damp grass with his legs crossed.

“Thank you, Viscount.”

“Call me Jaskier, dear.” Jaskier grinned while he repositioned the guitar and plucked at a few chords mindlessly. “Do you mind if I strum a bit? It always eases my anxiety and, after the night we’ve had… Well, I deserve it.”

Geralt cast a dirty look at Jaskier and rolled his eyes when Eskel didn’t say anything and just nodded. He couldn’t have been the only one who craved some goddamn peace and quiet, something that apparently couldn’t even be found in the middle of a giant centipede-ridden, magical forest that gave people fucking amnesia.

As Jaskier plucked at the strings, humming along to a melancholic melody that spoke of yearning, nostalgia and past lives, Geralt willed himself to shut his eyes.

Lulled by the haunting tune and the crackling embers, he fell asleep, strong in the belief that he was going to wake up the following morning in his bed, sweaty and restless, with the memory of the night just a forgotten bad dream.

**Author's Note:**

> As always a big thank you to [mayatheyellowbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayatheyellowbee/pseuds/mayatheyellowbee), my amazing friend and beta who endures me more than it is humanly advisable. 


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